Traveling to Krakow, Poland

Traveling to Krakow, Poland

In 2002, my oldest daughter, Joy, decided she would spend a

semester in Switzerland at L'Abri. Small chalet's situated in the

Swiss Alps overlooking the French Alps and Evian, France, she

went to search her soul and spend time in a, somewhat,

commune situation. Her living conditions were confined to

sharing a small room with someone that showed up in Huemoz,

just as she had decided to do. Her dad escorted her to her

destination, and the plan was that I would meet her for fall

break. At eighteen, she expressed a desire to go to Rome to just

play and see the sites.

After a month or so studying all manor of philosophers and

different religions of the world, her Christianity soon was

becoming more of a focal point. Her fall break was in October

and she had arrived at L'Abri in August. By September, her

focus had completely changed and she decided that rather than

to go to Rome, she wanted to make the trip to Poland to visit the

concentration camps that were Auschwitz and Birkenau, located

just outside of Krakow.

Flying into Lucerne, Switzerland, I rented a car and drove from

the East side to the West side of Lake Lucerne, into the small

village of Huemoz to pick her up for our journey. Leaving the

comfort of, what had become her very small world, we began to

drive through the Swiss Alps. For any of you that might know me

at all, this was quite an adventure, as I may be the single most

directionally challenged person on the face of the planet. The

vistas were expansive and breathtaking, to say the least. Having

lived in Colorado and driven in the High Country, I was used to

switch backs and rocky cliffs on either side of the road. Without a

doubt, these cliffs were much more dramatic than any I had

driven in Colorado.

Our goal was to drive across Switzerland, into Lichtenstein, into

the Austrian countryside, ending up in Salzburg. Between the

two of us and my not-so-expert skills at navigation, we finally

found ourselves in the beautiful city of Salzburg. We stayed at a

quaint hotel in the downtown area called The Goldener Hirsch.

We ate at the hotel restaurant and walked the streets the next

day. 

No matter where I have been around the globe, I have

managed to collect a fair amount of street art for no more than

$35.00 for a signed and numbered print. This was no different.

As we strolled across a small bridge that spanned a stream

running through Salzburg, I found a common watercolor image

of cobblestone streets, lined on either side with brick flats. People

were walking those cobblestones in the print. Just as I paid the

artist, it began to sprinkle rain. It was time to head back to the

hotel.

The next day, we boarded a train that would take us to Prague,

Czech Republic. Interesting would not be a descriptive enough

term for that train ride. We spent a day walking the streets of

Prague, and again, found the street artists lining the famous

bridge that spans the River. I was drawn to a particular piece of

work that showed the bridge and the surrounding buildings that

were centuries old. I didn't buy anything that day, but decided to

wait until the following day to make a final decision. As we

walked the bridge, looking at dozens of artists attempting to sell

their work, I returned to the place where the one piece I had been

drawn to the day before had been located. He wasn't there.

Amazingly, I located him in a different place and bought the

same thing that had spoken to me initially. As the day began to

close, we got on a bus in order to return to our hotel, thinking we

would hear our stop as it was called. After driving around the

rehabbed side of Prague post-Communism and the non-rehabbed

side about four or five times, we finally realized that whatever

was being announced, we could not understand what was being

said. Finally recognizing the hotel, with great relief, we got off

the bus and headed to the hotel.

The next night, we boarded a train that would take us into

Poland. Neither of us had ever been on a sleeper train, especially

sharing a tiny birth with eight strangers. At this juncture, it

would be appropriate to mention that Joy had only her backpack

to carry. I, on the other hand, had brought way too many shoes

and who knows what else, all to say I did not travel lightly. All

night long, the guards banged on the door, entering with guns

and requiring we show our passports. Having been to Russia just

after Perestroika in 1993, I wondered if Communism was really

eradicated or not. It was a bizarre night with no sleep.

As the train chugged into Poland, once again, Joy and I thought

we would hear our stop announced to change trains, boarding

another that would take us into Krakow. Pulling to a stop, again,

we didn't understand the sound of the town we were in and didn't

get off of the train. At the last second, I realized we should have

gotten off and hurriedly attempted to get Joy and all of my

luggage off of the train. It was too late. The train began to move

and I got back on. 

We were in the last car and had no idea that, late on a Sunday 
afternoon, this was the end of the line. After moving several hundred yards, 
a few cleaning women showed up in the doorway to our car, excitedly
motioning for us to get off, speaking rapidly in Polish. They weren't
kidding and we, literally, got off the train dragging my suitcase across tracks that

were overgrown with all manner of weeds, not knowing whether

to laugh or cry. About the time that I was going to panic,

miraculously, a little engine that shifted train cars around,

manned by an engineer, saw our plight and stopped. He

motioned for us to climb into his tiny car and took us back to the

platform. We got on the train headed for Krakow just in time.

To be continued...